At The Stake
by newbluemoon
Summary: When the Joker doesn't show up on Halloween, Bruce begins to wonder what's wrong. Written for Halloween Anon on batmanjoker. Very mild slash, couple of f-bombs, non-graphic violence, abuse of DC characters. REWRITTEN.


A/N: This was written very quickly for the BatmanJoker Halloween Anonymous contest, so there will be many-a-mistake. Also it's unbeta'd.  
Warnings: very mild slash, couple of f-bombs, non-graphic violence, abuse of DC characters. Not mine, Mr Lawyer dude, don't get your knickers in a twist.

* * *

The icy midnight air grazed against the exposed part of Bruce's face as he gazed upon his city, shrouded in a velvet darkness. He sucked oxygen deep into his lungs in preparation for the night ahead. _Halloween_. The first he'd experience as Gotham's protector, and pessimism was running freely through his bloodstream. The city was known for spouting freaks, it was practically a breeding ground for every circus reject ever to grace the surface of that planet, so when the rest of the world was welcoming strange personae out of the woodwork, he didn't even want to think about what _Gotham_ would churn out. In his eleven months as Batman, he'd faced all kinds of..._ eccentric_ people. A man dressed in green with an IQ higher than most who chose to use this intelligence to trick, deceive and harm. Another so haunted by his own childhood that he chose to turn fear into a weapon and terrify innocents into insanity. A woman dressed as a feline, haunting the night, as he did, but deciding instead to take what she pleased from whom she pleased. This one was fairly new and had recently begun to attempt to use those talons to pierce something inside Bruce which was alot more vulnerable than flesh. Oh, and she was _attractive. _She sported a figure accentuating leather one-suit which gripped into her curves, showing off every possible feature of her delightful feminine figure. And those lips with which she would literally purr Batman's name were blossom-pink and plump.

But it was her eyes that stopped Bruce in his tracks. They were a delicious shade of emerald-green - like tiny pools of poison floating on white frosted glass. The colour was completely and undeniably beautiful and he'd _almost _responded to it, until he realised just what they lacked. They held absolutely no sparkle, no _life._ He'd seen that colour before on someone else, and there it had shone, twirling with ever changing emotions, eliciting feelings in the core of Bruce's being that he had absolutely no power over. Those eyes twinkled under the moonlight instead of looking up at it dully. _Those_ eyes sought out his ocean-blue ones in an appealing dual which both pairs would be loathe to end, but had to due to the bodies they were attached to. _His_ eyes. And no matter how much Selina- and he figured that out pretty quickly, too-would rub her gorgeous form against Bruce's as he apprehended her or how often she would roll his name on her tongue with that seductive edge, Bruce could not feel his body responding. He willed it to, hell he practically _begged_ it to, because wanting Selina, though still morally questionable, was a million times more in-line with his principles than wanting _him_. The Joker. The final piece to the freak-family jigsaw of the fair gem that was Gotham City.

He wasn't the first opponent Bruce had fought, but he was the one that took Bruce's ideals, ripped them up by their roots, stomped on them and replanted them to watch them grow into something much more sinister. He took the very core of Bruce's universe and burnt away at it until there was nothing left but a miserable shell of a man, destined to carry on alone, save for his tormentor. No, Bruce knew _he'd_ always be there. Even if the madman's life slipped away- a thought which played on Bruce's mind often, disturbing him when he found it made him feel uneasy- he just knew the insufferable creature would not relinquish his hold on Bruce's mind. Oh no, he'd be there forever, his laugh, his infuriatingly accurate chiding remarks, his sickeningly beautiful, corrupted eyes all playing through Bruce's psyche on an infinitive loop, desperate to finally tip him over the edge. And of course it was Halloween, so naturally the Joker hadn't consented to staying amongst the four walls of the high-tech cage he had been placed in. No, if the Joker was one thing, it was an attention whore and if he didn't want all eyes on him on a day as '_fun'_ as Halloween, Bruce would eat his cowl. But these costumed criminals were the _norm_. So the fact that it was a night filled to the brim with mayhem, disguises and carnage made Bruce shiver in uneasy anticipation. Something big was guaranteed to happen. And with both The Riddler and Crane securely tucked up in their impenetrable cells and Selina tracking a corrupt cop, that left just one villain to conduct a 'show' for the people of the city. And Bruce didn't know whether he felt terrified or relieved that they would surely meet tonight. Sighing deeply, the vigilante shook his head to clear himself of this haze and bent his legs before launching himself into the unknown.

* * *

Something was _wrong_. He'd been crawling through the jet black night for about three and a half hours and had come across nothing except the odd mugger. It left Bruce with bitter chills. Apprehension and nervousness swept through his body as he turned every corner, expecting to find a sight akin to something dragged from the archive footage of an exploration-horror film. It was _Halloween_- there was no way that Gotham of all places would be _this_ silent. Underneath the cowl, Bruce's brows knitted together. He couldn't explain it, but he felt electric tingles deep inside and he just _knew_. Something was wrong.

Sighing deeply, he dropped down from the roof he was on to a lower level, striding effortlessly over the unsteady metal roofing as he contemplated the most likely areas for criminal activity. Where _he_ would be.

As if answering his thoughts, he heard the bone-chilling maddened cackles he was so familiar with erupt from within the warehouse he found himself standing on top of. They penetrated his Kevlar and pierced his nerves. This wasn't good. The clown only laughed like _that_ when something was on the verge of destruction.

He pounded across the rooftop to reach the dusty-ridden skylight, and peered in. But when he saw exactly what was going on underneath his feet, he felt physically sick. His eyes focused on a large group of people, jeering and yelling as they formed a rowdy circle around something tied to a large pole. Burly men in suits, who Batman recognised as mob members, were slamming knives and blunt objects into the unfortunate person in the middle. But Bruce heard no screams of pain or pleas for help, all he heard was the relentless laughter of a maniac. The afore mentioned madman was dressed head-to-toe in full Halloween attire- a Witches outfit. He threw his head back, knocking off the pointy hat as his laughter unbelievably deepened and blood oozed out of the multiple gashes and holes his body now held.

Bruce felt his stomach churn and his chest tighten. He wanted to feel some kind of sick sense of justice, _wanted_ to be pleased by the mobs actions. The clown was getting what he deserved, right? Bruce's face was grim and his eyes as wide as they could go. He couldn't. The man's blood ran like polluted rivers onto the dirty floor and all Bruce could feel was rage tinted with undiluted fear. These men were **killing** _his_ clown. It wasn't the fact the Joker was in pain that was unnerving him- he felt no qualms about beating the criminal to a pulp- but the fact that these _scumbags_ were touching what he inexplicably felt was _his_ filled him to the brim with anger and possessiveness. Their unquenchable desire to see the maniac's coppery life blood drain from his wiry form stemmed from the chaos the man himself had introduced to the city. The putrefying madness had come full circle and was attacking its creator and it should've been possible to draw out pleasure from the seeing the specks of sanguine fluid fleck the weapons. But it wasn't. This was _wrong. _Whatever he thought about the painted man, whatever he had inflicted onto Bruce in the past, it was irrelevant. The way the tools came down with brutal force shook his built frame, speeding up his adrenaline enhanced pulse. He needed to stop this. He had to _save_ the Joker.

Carefully and on impulse, he pulled out a tool from his utility belt which he hadn't had an opportunity to use yet- a miniature Ytterbium laser. Lucius had come up with it only a week earlier to help Bruce with another 'hobbie' but there never came a chance to experiment with it. He would have to operate on basic knowledge, and hope for the best outcome. With the laser in his gloved hand, he cut open the grainy glass of the skylight, neglecting to slice in pristine or accurate patterns as he should've and would've had there been time. He slowly and yet hapazardly removed a section large enough to accommodate his body and dropped down onto a large metal crate silently. As he moved closer, he noticed that Johnny Viti had begun to talk to the clown lowly as several men carrying large wooden crates and gasoline canisters entered the room.

"Y'know, freak. You should feel fucking lucky" Bruce heard Viti sneer, "This is nowhere near as violent as what you deserve, but ,hey, it fits the festivities" Crimson liquid poured out of the Joker's mouth and his eyes drooped, but still laughter flowed freely.

"Oh, I do feel lucky" he giggled, "You sure know how to treat a guy." The mobster snarled in the Joker's face and turned and signalled to the men with the crates who started to pile them up around the clown and doused them with the contents of the canisters. Bruce gasped in horror as he realised what the mob were planning to do.

_'TOURCH HIM!'_

_'BURN HIM!!'_

The mob were practically screeching as they punched the sky in delight. Bruce felt bile tickle the back of his throat. The absolute bloodthirsty nature of these people was disgusting. No matter what the clown had done in the past, _this_ was too horrific even for him. He remembered going to the warehouse where the maniac had roasted Lau. He could still smell the repugnant odour of charred, bubbling human flesh, the accountant having been so called '_cauterized'_ by the Joker. Fate's sense of humour was almost as corrupt as the villain's.

"Oooh, are we gonna _buuuurn _the witch at the stake?" the olive-haired man chirped. The prospect was clearly very amusing to him, but then what wasn't? "How do you know I won't just turn you all into toads. AHAHEEEHA..."

The Joker was paying no mind to the danger he was in nor his impending death and it was driving Bruce insane. Here he was, risking his own life to save his enemy's and the demented fool had absolutely no regard for his own safety, instead soaking up the pain, _feeding _off the mindless violence. But the madman's eyes were drooping, his muscles going limp, his body defying his mind's desire to bask in the lower dregs of humanity while he could. The human carcass he was confined to could after all only take so much.

_'Beg, you stupid clown!'_ Bruce demanded silently,_'Say your sorry, do something!_' His internal voice held a disturbingly desperate edge as he saw more gashes and slices appear on the scarred one's body. Bruce's hopes soared when he no longer heard the insistent laughter, but nearing the scene he discovered that his foe had merely fallen unconscious due to blood loss. His heartbeat quickened in dread. The clown couldn't die like this. He wouldn't fucking let him.

"Now, a little birdy told me you said _'everything burns'_, hmm?" Viti questioned the knocked-out clown, aiming a swift kick at his ribs when he got no response. Huffing in annoyance he scrambled in his pockets, drawing something out. "Well, let's test that theory, shall we?" He flicked a lighter on and threw it onto the liquid-coated wood and smiled widely as he watched it ignite.

At the sight of the flame, Bruce immediately dropped down from his hiding spot and bolted towards the men. Working on adrenaline, he silently took out several drunken mob members but this method was too time consuming. There just was too many men to subdue and the flames were rapidly growing. He began throwing punches and utilising every form of martial art training he knew to take out the mob members obscuring his path to his dying enemy. The violent men were alerted to the Bat's presence and began firing shots at random, their aim clouded by alcohol. Bruce silently thanked fate for booze as he rendered several men unconsciousness with fairly simple moves. A couple of the younger members sobered up in a haste as their faces grew pale with fear and they scampered out of the room lest they meet the wrath of the fabled cloked figure. Bruce shot across the room growling gutturally, his eyes a-blaze with rage, realising time was running out quickly. He brought a strong fist up to the chin of the last thug in his way of Viti and whipped his head in the direction of the Joker. Baleful fumes had begun to curdle in the air, garrotting the vigilante under the thickness of the smoke. The fire had spread vastly, but as far as he could tell, it wasn't burning the clown yet. His senses swirled with an edge to them he hadn't felt for the longest of times. The pungent smell of the asphyxiating fumes was too urgent. Too _real. _

"What are you _doing?!" _Viti snarled, "You of all people should know this is what he _deserves_!" Bruce didn't have time to debate the morality of this act, he just had to get the clown and get out of there. With an impatient groan, Viti had pointed his gun at The Joker and Bruce felt all the possessiveness he had experienced in past ten minutes swell and crescendo in that single second and he dived onto Viti like a falcon and unleashed an onslaught of cruelly precise meetings of fist and face. This lowly mob man, the epitome of the underbelly of society, this vile, despicable creature was trying to take his enemy out of the picture. He had no _right. _

'_Mine!_' Bruce growled as he delivered his final punch, not thinking about the idiocy of the word. It had nothing to do with his brain. Nothing to do with planning. His emotions and subconscious had seized him and the though emerged like the last bubble of air from a drowning man. Unstoppable. Natural. He stood up and pulled out his grapple gun and fired it to the rafters above the blaze. As he swung over, he ripped the Joker from the wooden pole with a strength similar to the one he utilised whilst pulling Ducard up from a certain death and rapidly fired another grapple up to the skylight and swung out of the burning room.

Cradling the unconscious man against his armoured body, Bruce charged across the rooftops as he made his way to where he parked the tumbler. His entire form was racked with the fear that he may not save the bleeding madman who's breathing had by that point become alarmingly strained. Later, he would tell himself that he actually cared if the mob had gotten out of the burning building or not and that his head certainly _wasn't_ clouded by his irrational need to make sure the Joker was okay.

As he reached the tumbler, he carefully strapped the madman in, being exceedingly careful of his abrasions and fractures, and then sped off, slamming through all the boundaries imposed by speed limits with inexorable force. The cruor that brought life to the clown was dripping out from the numerous new orifices and Bruce was struck with the thought that this was the absolute worse image he had ever seen. Worse than his parents bleeding to death, worse than Harvey Dent's demise. Worse even than Rachel dying from an overdose of Crane's toxin. It wasn't something he could even question right now. Oh, the guilt and excruciating shame would fall upon him later, but now the person who frustrated, disgusted and captivated him was slowly falling away into the clutches of necrosis. And it was heartbreaking.

"Don't you dare die clown" he choked, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed his foot down on the peddle. "Don't you _fucking_ dare."

* * *

A few hours later, Bruce stood in the bunker watching the Joker's steady heartbeat blink on a screen as the clown lay in the bed next to it. They had gotten there safely and he'd scrambled around erratically to treat the wounds and hook the Joker up to a ventilator and an IV. Eventually the maniac had stabilized and relief swarmed into every cell of his body. The Joker would live to fight him again and Bruce couldn't think about the reasons why he felt elated by this concept.

He just _was_. A glove-covered hand brushed a green-blond curl out of the Joker's eyes and decided to linger on the insane man's scarred cheek. Bruce's pulse was still heightened, knowing just how close he had been to...

The maniac stirred and Bruce yanked his hand away like scolding hot water had just been poured onto it. Eyelids flickered open and as dazed and yet sparkling, forest-green orbs came into his view, Bruce felt his body hum with mitigation and his buzzing mind echo his previous irrational thought. _Mine_.

As the Joker's vision focused on where he was, his brows furrowed. A pink, wet tongue swiped out to lick at dry licks and he coughed fiercely, trying to rid his lungs of the smoke he'd inhaled, knocking away the respiratory equipment. He was weak. He had withstood great inflictions of pain and the amount of blood he'd lost was staggering. By all rights, he should still be unconscious. Still, he seemed intent on sitting up. The painted man eyed the drips sticking into his arm with scepticism before sighing deeply.

"Why did you save me, Bats?" he croaked out, his voice exposing his current state. Bruce searched his face for some sign of malice, but was greeted with a merely curious expression. He sighed and looked away from the burning gaze.

"You know why. I couldn't let them kill you" he said softly. After a few moments of speculative gazing, a genuine smile spread across the clown's face, the unheard _'because I need you' _echoing in both of their ears.

The Joker moved his hand over the gauntlet-covered arm resting on his bed and when Bruce turned towards him with a quizzical glance, he yanked him forward and crushed their lips together. Though he was certainly shocked, Bruce felt none of the repulsion that he probably should. The warmth coming from the Joker's lips as he kissed him languidly was comforting- it told him his clown was _alive_. Pulling away slowly, though still lingering just above the ruby red lips, Bruce looked into the glittering green eyes that haunted his nights and the look he saw there confirmed the reason he had saved the Joker. Pulling the slighter man towards him again, avoiding putting pressure on his injuries, his skin ,though shrouded in Kevlar, tingled. This would assuredly never repeat itself, but as he held the chaotic menace in his arms he let the words that had been projected in those eyes run through his mind. _Yours._

He smiled.

**A/N: I just rewrote bits of this because it sucked, to be frank. Hope it's a bit better now. Please review!**


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